Goddess by Liv Savell (books for 6 year olds to read themselves txt) 📗

uncertain, Etienne nodded and raised his arm to fist in her tunic, studiously keeping his eyes away from her face and her quick brown eyes. He gripped her shoulder with his other hand and then parrotted the motion at speed and with as much force as he could muster.

And it worked. Meirin was off-balance, tumbling over his hip, on her way to the soft earth of the clearing.

Only, he was going with her.

The clan warrior had locked her hands about his wrists and used the momentum of her fall to pull him down so that for a second, all the world was a blur. Then, her foot pressed into the curve of his hip and he changed direction, coming to a stop on his back once more, having been flipped neatly over Meirin’s head.

Etienne groaned. Of course, she couldn’t let him have it.

But he wasn’t about to stay down. He had flipped her, whether or not it had gone exactly to plan, and there was still a point to win—training rounds didn’t count. He pushed himself to his feet, still breathless, and launched back into her direction.

She scrambled to her feet just as quickly and whirled. While he grappled with her shoulders, attempting to flip her again, her hands gripped behind his neck.

She yanked downward, forcing him to hunch over. Her knee came up to bump against his belly, forceful enough to be disorienting but certainly not hard enough to cause long term harm. She twisted, bringing his head to be locked between her side and the crook of her elbow, free hand coming to grip her wrist, completing the headlock.

She was panting as she hauled him about, a smile evident in her voice. “I think you should spend more time on your knees, mage. You look better this way.” Her tone was more flirtatious than demeaning.

Etienne spluttered, his face red from more than just the fighting, but no witty comeback was rising to his lips. He put his hands on her arm where she kept him clamped to her side and pushed, squirming to get free until, with a sudden rush, he had popped his head loose and went flailing back to fall on his rump.

He could feel his ears burning, but his idiot mouth was open in a grin, caught somewhere between embarrassment and humor.

She wanted him on his knees, then?

“Does this mean I’ve lost?” he asked, a little ruefully. “Two points to the mighty clan warrior?”

“A grand victory indeed.” She propped her hands on her hips but didn’t gloat. “Do you feel as though you’ve lost? I taught you a few new techniques, and you did successfully toss me the one time.”Finally, Meirin offered him her forearm to help him back to his feet.

Etienne reached out and took her arm, still smiling. He couldn’t quite bring himself to think of the bout as a loss, even with his pitiful showing. She was right; he was learning. It was just hard to be a beginner in something new after proving yourself a master in something else.

“A victory for us both, then,” he said as she pulled him up. “Because I did toss you that once. Sort of.”

Instead of letting go of Etienne’s arm, Meirin tugged him closer until there was little more than a breath between them.  Her grip was firm but not demanding, and a playful smile was curving her lips as a shadow passed overhead.

Etienne’s breath was still coming too quick, his heart speeding up behind his ears. He was too close to Meirin to think straight, a rush of blood blotting out his thoughts.

Or rather, a rush of wind.

“Mascen is no longer near here,” Delyth said as she landed, and the mage flinched, stepping back a little guiltily. When he turned to look at her, he couldn’t read her face. It was impassive, as stone-like as he had ever seen her.

“How do you know?” Etienne asked, recovering, though his cheeks were still aflame.

“His path is easy to follow.” Delyth looked northward, her shoulders tense. “The swath of destruction leads towards Caerthleon, but there is no telling whether or not he has reached the city.”

⫸

Meirin released Etienne’s forearm and turned to pick up her pack. Delyth still needed to tear down her own tent, but then they could be on their way. She caught Delyth looking at her in what Meirin could only assume was a questioning manner, and the warrior shrugged.

“War Chief Tanwen told me to help get Gethin back and stop the Gods if possible. While I still think this is a foolish errand, I’m not disloyal. I’ll help.”

And since Meirin didn’t care much for speeches or sentimental moments, she turned away before Delyth or Etienne could say anything on the matter. Leaving their campsite behind, she found the stream and crouched to wash her face and hands, filling her canteen.

If she was perfectly honest with herself, Meirin could admit that her orders were not the only things keeping her with Etienne and Delyth. When her own anger had receded, she had realized that Delyth had made some fair points. If Mascen could nearly kill Enyo, a Goddess contained within a mortal body, then Enyo in her original form must be even worse.

And while Maoz seemed uninterested in harming them, Tristan—Va'al had proven at Mynydd Gwyllt that he was as dangerous, swift, and brutal as his mate.

Who was to say whatever deity they brought back next would not be like Enyo and Va'al and less like Maoz?

Mascen was an obvious problem, but one that was well over her own knowledge or strength to deal with. She didn’t have magic, and she was no legend, to take on a God and survive. Meirin knew her own limits.

It was easier, nicer even, to deal with something she might actually have an effect on.

Plus, there was that intriguing way Etienne stuttered whenever she teased him. He was an interesting man. As thin and devoid of color as she was dark and muscled. Meirin thought of herself as